A Destiny Stolen, A Destiny Switched
by Late to the Party
Summary: 'The Lord of Murder shall perish... The sage Gorion could save but one child.'  'What if our places had been reversed, brother? Would you become as I? Heh.'  AU.
1. Role Reversal

**Disclaimer: Still don't own any of the names, characters, setting contained within. Bioware/Black Isle/Interplay does.**

**A/N:** I've given this an 'M' because of the themes, not because this piece goes into detail. It doesn't. This also got written in a day as a one-shot.

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><p>Role Reversal<p>

As the son of Rieltar Anchev, he led the Iron Throne. Only a few knew Rieltar was not his true father. He was the son of the dead god of Murder Bhaal, the one spoken of in Alaundo's Prophecies. It was his blade that would ascend, and he alone would survive.

The Skull told him as much.

But dreams of power were not to be trusted. Winski Perorate, his 'master' had his own agenda. They all did. Even Tamoko. But so did he, and they were fools for believing him 'tamed'.

He regarded the quivering fool in front of him. A 'brother', in the guise of a Flaming Fist, his armour was ill fitting, ill suited and worthless. An assassin. The first of many. The Time was upon them all. His siblings would come, one by one for him, raising their worthless, pathetic armies. The Skull demanded blood, lifeblood that fuelled their sire's return, that fuelled his own ascension.

The Skull would consume him if he allowed it to. His brother pleaded for his miserable life, offering all manner of promises.

"I can lead you to the others…"

Mercy was a weakness.


	2. Childhood

Childhood

As an urchin, he had learned the Law of Life: the strong survived, the weak perished. Every living creature obeyed its nature. Those without strength were enslaved or slain by those with power. Power was everything.

Those around him would steal what was his. What little he had was given by others, what he had stolen to survive. No one cared about the dirty, illiterate orphans, the starving, near naked 'brats'. A few kind-hearted fools spared pity, and some of the temples offered food, a roof, but most saw them as vermin. Street rats. Nothings.

It would have been easy to hate them. Easy to hate the other urchins that stole from him, who beat him when he refused. To hate the rich nobles in their fancy jewelled clothes, in their fine carriages and grand houses. The merchants that spat and kicked at them; the guards who cleared them from the street. The drunks that kicked them and the dogs that stole from them.

But not everyone was like that. This was his world, his life. He banded together with others like him, and like the rest of the world, they had a hierarchy. The strong still ruled, but strength included smarts. And he was smart. Some noble ladies took pity on sobbing girls, and others on boys; some didn't care at all, but he watched to see who gave, how much and why.

He learned which of the temples to go to, which of the taverns to avoid, which of the merchants would pay for odd jobs, which of the guards were friendly. The docks were to be avoided, the prison too. Stealing on a market day risked being caught, arrested and worse, and begging did not have to mean asking. Sometimes it was better to cry, standing in a crowd.

He had nothing, but he did not always go hungry.

The other urchins learned to respect him. The older ones tried to bully him, but he stood up for himself. Sometimes they beat him so badly he wanted to die, and sometimes he fought back. He realised he had a choice. He could bully others, or he could stop others bullying. The younger ones became his. He learned early on he could achieve more through others than he could alone. If they pooled their resources, they could cover more ground, and if each focused on different tasks, they brought in more than if they were alone. He found if he protected them, they protected him; if he commanded them, they obeyed. Fear was a way of making others obey, but he found the other children did more if they trusted him.

Simple lessons.

If someone hurt one of his, he went after them. He set examples. The other urchins began to learn not to touch any who followed him. Those that followed him obeyed, or they faced his wrath. He learned if he listened to their reasons for not obeying, the others were more likely to agree he should hit the perpetrator. If it was a good reason, he didn't hit. Those who did well were rewarded; those who failed were punished. That was the Rule of his band. Fear and trust bred loyalty. Strength bred respect.

He used his band well; he made them useful. At first, it was the odd job, promising to run messages from one priest to another, from one stall to another, from a merchant to a guard. No one foresaw what it would become. He learned the value of promises. Over time, he cultivated a reputation. People expected his word to be kept. His band ran messages; he made sure they were on time. Those that failed were heavily punished, and even put out of the group. Failure affected them all. It was not a big income, but it was an income. They were earning money.

Money, he realised, was the key to power. In a world of merchants, where everything had a price, where whores sold their body and some adults preyed on children, coin could buy anything. Harlots were one of the groups he had regular contact with; his band would fetch things for them. Like the guards, they had to stay in their territory, patrolling it, which meant they were stuck. It was an opportunity. The same was true of many merchants. Hawkers, fish wives, harlots, guardsmen, priests and anyone else he could find. He made sure his band was needed.

He set his urchins scouting for jobs, keeping them in pairs; one to spot opportunities, one to keep away the competition. A weak one and a strong one. He ruled over his Band and made sure all reported back to him. He had one rule: no one lied to him. Failure meant punishment, success meant reward, but lying was never tolerated.

At night, they gathered in an abandoned house, their shelter. The roof leaked, had holes in, rats infested it, and the walls were rickety. It was a palace. His palace. During the day, he set some of his band as guards. They kept their supplies there, locked away in his chest, as precious as gold. Cloth, scraps, needles, food, drink. He set his most trusted members to guard the chest, and organised distribution personally. None but he had the key, and he always checked everything in front of the Band.

Those not in the Band were jealous; he knew they hated him, feared him. Each night, they barred the door. All the windows were boarded and he always set lookouts. The Band knew their den was only as safe as those who guarded it. He organised rat hunts, and they huddled together for warmth. They set traps. Sometimes the other urchins tried to catch one of his and beat them into telling his secrets. When that happened, he mustered the entire Band and went after those responsible.

Life for the urchins was brutal.

One day, everything changed.


	3. Rieltar

Rieltar

He did not understand what 'father' meant. The other urchins never knew his past; that had been his other rule: once in the Band, life before meant nothing. Now he belonged to Rieltar, he understood his time before Rieltar meant nothing. He was never to speak of it, never to think of it. There was no going back.

Rieltar was a merchant. A powerful merchant. He ruled over many and was strong. Everyone respected him, but those that knew him feared him. 'Anchev' was his family name, but he used it to own others. If 'Anchev' marked people as possessions, then Rieltar was a master, and he a slave.

He understood slavery. The strong ruled the weak. He was to call Rieltar 'father', but the real meaning was 'master'. He learnt how words were used to lie.

Another 'Anchev', a woman, he was to call 'mother'. It did not mean the same as 'father'; Rieltar owned her too. She was his harlot, a whore that belonged only to him. A slave.

One day, Rieltar had found him wandering the streets, about to visit revenge upon an urchin who dared to threaten one of his Band, and just like that, everything had changed forever. Rieltar spoke down to him, his tall adult body sneering as used words he didn't understand. Then Rieltar stepped into his carriage, and he had to follow. Rieltar had guards with him: it was either struggle and be forced, or obey.

He had known something was different, that things would never be the same again. He didn't know why Rieltar had chosen him, but he recognised Rieltar was not a nice man.

The carriage was as the streets to Rieltar's house, and the carriage was a palace to the life he had known. Everything was so big and colourful. Coloured stone floors and cloth over them, cloth from stone walls and ceilings, and paintings and vases. Things he had seen in the stalls but far richer. A single vase-stand would feed his Band for a year he reckoned.

He understood it was to be his prison. Rieltar used a voice he did not trust and told him it was now his 'home'. Rieltar wasn't lying, but what he said meant something different. Rieltar said he was now 'father'; he knew other children had 'fathers' and 'mothers'; he had seen them in the street, knew some of them. They weren't allowed to talk to urchins, and were punished if they did. Some of his Band had mothers who didn't want them, or who were whores and didn't look after them.

Rieltar soon made it clear that 'father' meant 'obedience', obedience without question, delay or speaking. Rieltar expected 'mother' to obey him. To everyone else, Father was nice. He spoke nicely, didn't smile often, but he knew how to make others like him. Servants were not 'everyone else', nor were guards.

'Young Master Anchev' learned that there were different sorts of servants: servants that Father kept close, and servants he did not. Servants Father kept close were slaves. Guards were servants too. Father treated some with respect, but only a few. The servants that were not close didn't know what Father was like; they didn't live in fear. Mother did. Mother hated Father, but she feared him. She didn't use the name Father gave him, or the name the servants and guards called him. Father called him 'son', or 'boy'. Mother called him 'beautiful', or 'hers', but she didn't mean it like Father did. When Mother asked how he was, she wanted to know if Father was mean.

Sometimes Mother wasn't nice, but when she hit him, she was sorry afterwards and kissed him. He obeyed both Mother and Father, but sometimes Mother still hit him. She would also drink wine. He knew Mother hated him, but it wasn't how she hated Father. He didn't understand why Mother was kind and why she held him, only to hit him, cry, drink wine and kiss him. She would say 'sorry' and send him away, then find him and bring him back to her room. When Father was away, she made him sleep in her and Father's bed. When Father was there, she locked him in his room.

His room was beside Father and Mother's and had a real bed in. The servants came and changed it and put new clothes out for him. Every day, Mother poured hot water over him and rubbed soap on him. He was to wear different clothes each day, because Mother and Father both did.

When Father was home, at night, and Mother was in bed with him, Father would hit her. Mother never hit Father back, and only when she was crying did Father stop. Father didn't hit her like Mother hit him; Mother hit him with her hand open; Father hit Mother with his hand closed. Father would call Mother names, like 'filthy harlot', and make her call him 'master'. That's when he understood 'Father' meant 'master'. Father would tear Mother's clothes off and climb on top of her. Then he would hurt her. Father would cry too, but he enjoyed it.

Through the cracks, he saw Mother's bruises. No one else did, not even the servants. Father always made sure of it.

Father always left in the morning, and when Mother unlocked his door, he would look at her. Her eyes were always sad. Sometimes she cried and held him; other times she would tell him to leave, and hit his face. Once he kissed her, not like Father kissed her or she kissed Father, but like she kissed him. She started crying and wouldn't let go of him. He felt angry. He realised he hated Father. He hated him like no one he had ever hated before. She slapped him when he told her.

"Never say that!" Mother made him promise, "Never think it!" She slapped him again and again until he promised. Mother was afraid.

From that day on, 'Father' became 'Rieltar'.


	4. Master, Teacher, Foe

Master, Teacher, Foe

Winski Perorate was a bad man. Rieltar gave him to him as his 'student'. 'Young Master Anchev', Winski nodded as Rieltar told him, "The boy needs discipline. Teach him everything you know."

Those words chilled him, but Winski's eyes made his blood run cold. He knew Rieltar was really speaking to him and not to the red robed man. As soon as Rieltar was gone, Winski produced a stick. As he spoke, he hit him. "Look at me, boy."

Winski was to give him lessons.

The night before, Rieltar had called him into his bedroom. Mother was on her knees, her hands holding the string Rieltar had around her throat. Mother started screaming when she saw him, pleading for Rieltar not to hurt him.

"Look well, boy," Rieltar said as if Mother hadn't spoken, "she slept with another man."

He didn't understand, and Rieltar knew it. Mother started crying. "You think I would let you choose his life or yours?"

He hated Rieltar and his hands closed, but Mother screamed at him to stand still. Rieltar pulled the string tight, and Mother struggled. Finally, she stopped.

He didn't see Mother after that.

Master hit him. Even when he remembered, Master still hit him. Master hit him more when he didn't remember. Crying didn't help; Master hit him for crying. Screaming only made Master hit him harder. When he didn't scream, or cry, or close his hands, the hitting was less. He had to remember everything Master said, and say it back. Every day, he would repeat everything Master taught. Master would ask him what he learned. He had to think. If he didn't think fast enough, Master would hit him until he cried, and hit him for crying.

He no longer had a room. He had a rug on the floor. Master would sit in the same room, with candles around him in a circle. The room they stayed in had books in, a bed for Master, a chest and the stool. The only time he was allowed outside of the room was to use the bucket, and to wash. Master didn't pour water over him like Mother had, and the water was always cold. A servant brought food, but he never saw the servant; no clean clothes were left out for him. Sometimes Master wouldn't let him eat. Sometimes Master wouldn't let him sleep. Sometimes, Master talked and sometimes he wouldn't say a word.

He missed Mother.

Master taught him to kill. At first it was rats. Master would show him how to hold the knife, and where to put it. He would put a cage of light around them that hurt if he touched it. Then the light would touch the rat, and the rat would scream. The rat tried to bite him; if he didn't kill the rat quickly enough, the rat would keep biting him. Master didn't make the pain stop. The rat bites hurt. Master made him drink nasty wine from bottles but it only stopped 'infection' Master said. "Pain is a lesson."

He knew Rieltar had killed Mother, and quietly promised to kill Rieltar one day. Mother had taught him what a promise was, and he had understood a promise must never be made without meaning it.

After the rats, Master made him kill a cat. The cat was a young one, and Master had given it to him. The cat rubbed its head against his hand and chest, and licked him. He was so happy Master had given her to him that he didn't mind being hit. He shared his food with her, and she slept with him. Every morning, she would lick his face, and every night she would wash him. She was soft and orange and warm.

One day, Master told him he had to kill her. He didn't understand and Master beat him so hard for asking "why?" that he cried for days. He knew he had broken the rules for asking, but he had to. Master told him she had to die, and when he refused, Master broke his arms. After his arms were fixed, Master picked up the knife and handed it to him. He tried to stab Master. Master hit him like he had never hit him before. Master hit him until he saw black, woke him, made him drink a nasty bottle, and then hit him all over. Master did this again and again and again.

Finally, Master stopped and told him to kill the cat. Master wasn't angry, but always calm. When he told Master "no", Master put the knife against his neck. "Your life or its." He pressed his skin against the knife edge, and Master pulled the knife back and hit him with the back of his closed hand. Master never used his hand. Master called him names. He understood some like "fool", and "wretch", but not the others. Master didn't understand cat was his, like the Band was his. But then Master showed he did understand, and put the knife in his hand, and forced his arm forwards. He screamed for cat to run away, but cat didn't understand, and Master used light to stop cat from moving. Master was stronger than him and he couldn't stop Master making his hand move.

He hated Master.

He would kill Master one day, he promised.

After that, Rieltar visited.


	5. Rats

Rats

Rieltar spoke to Master. He heard but didn't care. Master spoke about his 'progression', and 'uncooperative but attentive'. Rieltar nodded, as if he expected nothing less.

He watched them thinking about the day he would be strong enough to kill them. It wasn't enough to put a knife in them like he had to with a rat. Master had shown him how to kill a rat slowly, so the rat couldn't hurt him but didn't die quickly. He hated doing that, and even though Master hit him worse, he always killed the rats quickly. He never forgot cat or Mother.

Rieltar went away again, but life changed. Before leaving, Rieltar told him their enemies would never show mercy. After Master finished hitting him, he thought about that for a long time. He decided Rieltar and Master were 'enemies'.

Master taught him new ways to kill. Some used a knife, others poison. Master showed him how to extract poison, how to distil it, and how to brew it. He learned to read. Master taught him about alchemy and potions. Master taught him 'knowledge was power', and he realised he needed Master's knowledge to become stronger than him. He told that to Master, and Master smiled. Master never smiled. Then Master hit him. Master hit him each time before sleep, and each time after, and before they ate. Master told him it was 'conditioning', and when the stick stopped hurting, Master used light to make him hurt.

Once, he hit Master's hand and stopped Master from making the words that made light. Master was surprised and pleased, then made him wish he had never done it. Master made him cry for so long he forgot that crying was against the rules. Then Master hit him for forgetting.

He became aware his body was growing. He ate more, and Master fed him. The food never changed. Master didn't eat the same food. He recognised some of what was in the food from what he had learned. Everything he ate had alchemical properties, properties to stimulate his mind and make him strong and fast.

The dreams started. He didn't tell Master about the dreams. The dreams had a Skull in that whispered promises to him. The Skull promised power, how he would never be weak again.

He hated the Skull. He hated its whispers, its promises. Master had taught him that relying on others was a weakness, and he knew if he did what the Skull wanted, the Skull would be master. Power always came at a cost, Master taught, and that cost was weakness. He decided he would find a way to kill the Skull as well as Master and Rieltar.

Master moved him to a new room. This room was dark, and had hard things in it. Master used light to make him run. He had to learn not to use his eyes. Master expected him to understand without explaining. Many times he tripped and fell, or hit his head, and then Master would walk over and hit him. He learned where things where, and then Master moved them. He learned when things were moving from the sounds, and learned he had to hit them to stop them moving sometimes. Master put rats in the room, and he had to kill them before Master let him eat.

Master also made him run, and climb, and push himself up from the floor with his hands. He had to lift things, and twist, turn and hit bags of dirt until his hands bled. He had to kick them. He had to hit pieces of wood. Then Master would make him remember all of the lessons and hit him. He would dream about the Skull and think how nice it would be to kill it.

One day, Master brought him to an empty room. Master left and then men in masks came. Four of them. They hit him; he had to hit them back. They hit him until he slept. When he woke up, he was still in the room. Master had left him without food or potions. The men came back. They hit him again, but this time, he hit one of them in the face. They were all bigger and stronger than him. Every day they came back. Each time he hit them, Master left him food. When he didn't hit them, he went hungry. One day, they came with knives. He understood. They were rats. Human rats. Master wanted him to kill them.

They made him bleed. He hated Master for this. He hated them. He knew Master would make him kill another cat, but Master wouldn't let him die. They would hurt him until he killed them. If he ever wanted to kill Master, he had to kill the rats first.

It took him two months before he killed. Master tried to teach him killing a human was no different to a rat. Master was wrong.


	6. Cat

Cat

Cat was an urchin. A girl. He knew what Master wanted. Master had given him a sword for killing the four rats. Master explained to make the sword his, it needed blood. With each life, the sword would make him stronger; it would heal him. He tried to throw the sword away, but he couldn't. Master used light on it. "Cursed" was the word Master used. Master used light on the sword to make it slowly hurt him; the only way to stop it was to kill. Master no longer used actual rats; Master sent human rats against him. Desperate, deranged, criminals. He remembered them as those that preyed on him as a child. Those that liked to hurt urchins. Those that the harlots spoke about, who liked to hurt them as Rieltar hurt Mother.

He didn't like killing but he was good at it. They tried to kill him, thinking if they did, they would be free. They didn't understand it was a lie, and Master drugged them with potions. Each time his sword took a life, it became a little easier. He knew what Master was doing. Killing with his knife didn't stop him from being weakened, but it felt less dirty. He didn't know why killing made him feel dirty.

Cat wasn't like the others. She wasn't drunk, or dangerous, and she wasn't there to kill him. She was lost, alone and vulnerable. She was hungry and needed him. Master would make them fight to the death. There was nothing he could do to change Master's mind. He hated him for it. He hated himself. Cat didn't deserve to die. He didn't know how old she was, but she seemed to be around his age. He didn't know his own age, but he felt the need to protect her.

She was pretty, in her own way. Her brown hair was a tangled mess and she was dirty, and smelt bad, and she was hurt. Bruises covered her, and blood dried on her lips. She wore a tattered dress. Seeing her made him very, very angry. He knew her eyes. She had been one of his back when he led the Band. Somehow, Master knew. She remembered him, and was too afraid to run to him.

He went to her; she cowered. Gently, he picked her up. He wasn't used to being gentle; he felt clumsy and awkward but she smiled at him. He hated it, because he knew what would happen. As he touched her hair, he remembered Mother as Rieltar strangled her. He knew without knowing how Rieltar had a hand in this, and one day he would find a similar cord.

She clung to him, pressing her face to his shoulder. It surprised him how strong he had grown and how thin she was. His hand could easily reach around her neck; his finger lifted her chin. She trembled. Without words, he led her to the wash-bucket. It was cold, but he remembered how Mother washed him, how gentle Mother could be. Mother hadn't always been gentle, sometimes she had scrubbed him so hard it hurt, and sometimes she was rough, but he remembered when she wasn't.

He hadn't seen a girl in years. He didn't know how long it had been, but something was different. It wasn't just her body or his, but what he felt. She blushed when he lifted her dress off her and covered herself with her arms. His frown made her stop, but she wouldn't look at him.

It took him a long time to get all the dirt off her. He had to be careful because of the bruises and because there was only one bucket, he couldn't let her stand in it. She wasn't clean, but she seemed better and didn't want to wear her filthy dress. He took off his shirt; it reached down to her knees.

There was only one blanket, and without it, it was cold. As they had as children, they huddled together. He didn't know how long it would be until Master made her die, but he wondered if he could stop Master. Maybe he was strong enough. Master would use the light to make him, but if he could break Master's hand, or stop him speaking, there might be a chance.

Sword still weakened him, so he would need to kill soon. He hoped it didn't mean Cat.


	7. Readiness

Readiness

Cat touched his face with her fingers. They were lying together under the blanket. Her legs curled up under his shirt, and he held her. He wasn't used to sleeping without his shirt, but it was nice to have someone warm against him. His trousers helped, and after a while neither were cold. He had forgotten what it was like not to feel cold. It reminded him of when Mother held him and made him sleep in her bed. Cat stopped shaking but she was still scared, so he kissed her hair the way Mother kissed him. It made her smile and she stopped fearing. It took him a long time to sleep. Exhaustion took Cat, but no matter how tired he felt, he wasn't going to let Master steal her. Eventually, he realised that Master wouldn't do that until she was his. But Master sometimes did things differently to make him think.

He had once tried to break Sword by hitting it against the wall. It had hurt so much that it had made him sleep. When he woke up, he did it again and again and again. Sword wouldn't break.

When he woke up, Cat was still there. She was sleeping, her fingers still touching his chest. He touched her hair; it felt soft, tangled, dirty. But she was real. He hadn't dreamed her. He promised this cat wouldn't die because of him, that he would be strong enough to stop Master.

Cat stirred and he hugged her. It had been so long since Mother had hugged him; no one else ever did. It felt nice. Cat opened her eyes and stared at him. He didn't know why she kept looking at him, but he let her. After a while, he needed to use the bucket, but didn't want to leave her alone. He didn't trust Master not to hurt her. Sword hurt him, but he needed to keep it close. Master often allowed rats to try to kill him, and even when he was sleeping, they came for him. Knife wasn't enough; he didn't need Knife to kill, his hands could kill, but only Sword stopped the hunger.

Thinking about it made him angry. Cat pulled back. He smiled; it felt awkward, strange, but she stopped fearing. She shifted, stretched, yawned and looked uncomfortable. He decided she needed to use the bucket too. He took her there by the hand, the same way Mother led him. It was better to remember Mother being nice. Cat didn't want to at first, but then he hit her gently. He kept his hand open and made sure it wouldn't hurt. When Cat still wouldn't, he hit her a little harder, but still gently. Then she did what he wanted.

He didn't like hitting her, but he didn't know how else to make her. Sometimes Mother had hit his legs, and since Cat's lip was hurt, he didn't want to hit her face. Later, he realised he could have used words, but she hadn't spoken at all. He wasn't sure she'd understand.

The wash-bucket had clean water in, so he cleaned her hair this time. He needed to wash too, but she was dirtier and made the water mucky so he decided to wait until tomorrow. There wasn't enough food for them both, but he shared it. Afterwards, she slept. To keep her from getting cold, he lay next to her and touched her hair. Sword made him hungry.

Making sure the blanket was around her, he went to look for rats. He found some. Eight of them, all with swords. Master had sent them there to kill him; if he failed, they would hurt and kill Cat. Master didn't usually allow so many in, but he knew it was a test.

When Cat woke, she found him lying beside her. Sword had healed his bleeding, and the wash-bucket had got off the blood, but he still smelt of death. She was scared at first, but calmed after he stopped her running and touched her cheek. Later Master sent five more to kill him and Cat hid, her back to the wall as he fought them. Master's light made the room and his clothes clean, and Master's fire made the bodies go away. Master was close by, but he couldn't see him. Neither could Cat.

After Sword healed him, he sat down. Master had taught him how to sit, crossing his legs and to meditate. It made the world clearer. Cat watched him, but he didn't mind. He recited Master's lessons in his mind, and thought about how he had killed. He didn't do as well as he should have, and although he wasn't cut, he could have been. He needed to do better. Shyly, Cat came up to him. He heard her, but didn't move. He hadn't finished thinking.

He wasn't expecting her to sit on him, or for her to kiss him. What he felt was something new, something different. He acted on it, remembering how Rieltar climbed on top of Mother, and how her crying was different to when Rieltar hit her. Cat struggled and it made him angry, but he didn't hit her. Mother hated Rieltar and he didn't want Cat to hate him. More gently, he kissed her and after a while, she stopped struggling.


	8. Choices

Choices

One day, he found a cord beside the blanket. He knew the time had come. Master had been waiting for Cat to become his, so Master could take her away. This time, he was strong. He wasn't weak any more. Master wasn't taller, his hand wasn't bigger, and Sword couldn't hurt him any more. Sword still made him hungry, but he had learned that meditation stopped the hunger. He wished he had known about it before, but Master would still have sent rats to kill him. Stronger rats came for him, but he killed all of them.

Master left him books to read, and he memorised all of them. He didn't need Master's stick or light to make him remember. He was strong enough to do it on his own.

Some of the books told him how to fight. He studied one that spoke about freezing an enemy by looking at them. As long as he kept looking at them, they would be unable to move. He meditated on this and kept practicing until he succeeded. He knew it would give him more time with Cat. It worked. He kept at it until he could make any rat freeze. Rooting them to the spot was only the beginning. Another book spoke of destroying a foe in a single blow. He had started practicing when he found the cord. Cat was still sleeping.

Never had he felt so angry. He tied the cord around his wrist. Cat woke, and stared at him. He knew she was scared, but he couldn't stop his hate. She tried to back away, but he stood up. Every night, they kissed and he climbed on top of her. She didn't struggle but didn't like it unless he kissed her. The first time she hurt-cried but cried differently. She hadn't bled again, and all her bruises had healed, so he didn't expect her to. Now he had to make her bleed.

He wasn't going to.

Pulling Sword out of its cover made Cat fearful, and she hid behind his legs when he hit the doorframe with Sword. Master didn't send rats though. He walked towards the wash-bucket and waste-bucket room. In the water-bucket, he saw his own reflection. His eyes were glowing.

He knew the rooms inside and out. There was no way out. Master used light to get out. Furiously, he went into the no-light room. He hacked at the moving wood beams and bags of dirt. The last time he had tried that made Master very angry, and he hoped Master would appear.

Marching back; it wasn't a walk and it wasn't a run, he found Cat and pulled her to her feet. One arm around hers, the other holding Sword, he looked around. Cat clung to him. He almost cut the cord, but he decided he would use it to strangle Rieltar.

"You disappoint me." Master appeared with Rieltar beside him; he suppressed his rage. Master wasn't really there. He was using light to make it look like he was. No matter how much he wanted to jab Sword through Master, it wouldn't have done anything. "She makes you weak. Rid yourself of this weakness and you will be ready."

He looked at her, her eyes were wide and wet.

"No."

"She is nothing. A rat."

"She is mine."

Rieltar laughed, "Let him have her. He will learn soon enough."

Master moved his fingers; everything turned black.


	9. Heir to the Iron Throne

Heir to the Iron Throne

Rieltar told him he was a man. For the last twelve years, he had been preparing him. Winski's tutelage had included the importance of strength, but now it was time he learnt how things truly worked in the world. Money was power.

Rieltar never spoke of Cat; she stayed in his bedroom. He realised she was a slave, but she was his. Unlike his old room, this one had several other rooms next to it that were also his. A room lined with books, a room with a bath, an eating room. It was similar to the rooms Master kept him in. Rieltar made him read books on trade.

He came to meetings, listened while Rieltar made decisions. He was forbidden from asking questions. If he wanted answers, he had to find them for himself. If he said something foolish, Cat would be punished. Master warned him that she would suffer because of him. If he had killed her, her suffering would have ended, but because he let her live, he must learn the consequences. The cord still hung around his wrist.

No one wondered where he had been all these years. Rieltar was always away on business, and had not taken another wife. He learned everyone believed Mother had drowned in her sleep, having drunk wine meant for Rieltar. He hated the lie, but knew he wasn't in a position to do anything about it yet.

Rieltar began showing him to nobles at their parties and feasts. Well-to-do merchants. Young ladies looked at him, admired him. Master taught him manners, how to eat, how to drink, how to talk. Rieltar grew angry if he didn't, and Master hurt Cat. There were always guards, and even though he watched them training, he knew he couldn't defeat them all. Yet.

Master was never seen by anyone other than him and Rieltar. Cat had only seen him hooded, and the servants were not allowed in his rooms. Rieltar had forbidden it. No one knew Cat existed.

Cat couldn't read, he learnt, and teaching her gave her something to do. She grew restless and bored being locked away all day; sometimes she would get angry and not let him kiss her. Then she would run to him a few days later and apologise. She told him women's bodies were different to men's. He accepted it, and her changes in mood. Rieltar was right; he was growing tired of her, but he would never admit it. She wasn't what he needed; kissing her helped a little, but not for long. He hated seeing her hurt, so he looked after her. He remembered how she kept him warm, how scared she was, how scared she still was. Sometimes he brought her pretty things to wear, or put on her face or hair. Pretty things made her smile. It made her forget she was a slave, for a while.

He could have set her free, but he knew she wouldn't survive. Rieltar would make sure of it, and she would end up as a whore somewhere if Master didn't kill her first.

Death was her only way out.

The Dreams came more and more frequently. Even meditation didn't stop them. The Skull kept trying to make him believe its lies, to make him its slave. He didn't listen. Rieltar was a liar, Master was a liar and so was the Skull. He remembered the nobles from when he was a child, and how so many of them didn't care. A few did, but at the parties he saw how much they had, how selfish they were, and he hated them too. The only ones he didn't hate were the ones who helped the poor.

He decided he would do something about it as soon as he was able. His Band had to be trained, but they learned and became useful. With Rieltar's money, he could make all the urchins useful, and then none of them would have to go hungry or sleep on the street. They would respect him, and when they grew up, he would own their loyalty. He would also make the guards loyal. When he had enough, he would kill Rieltar and Master, and take over Rieltar's company. He would be the strongest, and the prophecies Master made him learn would help him. When the chaos came, he would be ready. The weak would perish and he would survive.

One day, Rieltar gave him a task. It was a simple task, but one he was held responsible for. He was to oversee the beginnings of the Plan. The result would be dominance throughout the Sword Coast as the strongest merchant cartel and lead their enemies to ruin.

It was not a simple plan, and he did not know all of it, but his part involved checking communiqués from a mage, Davaeorn. He was to study these reports and learn the transactions. At the same time, he was to familiarise himself with the price of iron in the region and beyond. For several months, he did this.


	10. Tamoko

Tamoko

She was everything Cat was not. Cat was pretty, but she was exotic. Cat, once scrawny was now a wisp; she was lean, confident and a warrior. Two swords she carried. Eyes of black and hair like night, skin washed golden by a dying sun. He couldn't help but be drawn to her strength. Here was someone who finally understood. He didn't need to speak, he only had to stand. She saw he despised the petty little nobles and their games, their barbed words and small-talk. Their niceties and coy insinuations. There was an honesty in what she was, and she was despised for it, for being a warrior.

She was everything he could hope for in a woman.

From Kozakura, her accents and looks said. Master had taught him different tongues, different dialects. Her swords were strange, curved with one edge and a spear-like tip. He read all he could about her people. Honour drove them. Honour and duty. He felt a kinship with these concepts, but knew he lacked them. Rieltar cared nothing for either; his only duty was his ambition.

Now she walked with him. It was not how the noble ladies walked, with their gloved hands resting lightly on their man's arm, tucked beneath their parasol, a scented handkerchief to their nose. It was the walk of a warrior. Bold, long-legged, always alert. They spoke of her homeland. Of poetry. Before reading about Kozakura, he had never encountered poetry. It was not the sort of the noble ladies here, or of the bards. It was the subtle, short verse of life and death, painted by nature and seasons.

He did not appreciate the words, but acknowledged their meaning. Life was short, and could end at any point. Each moment existed for its own. He could not believe a lack of past or future, living only for the moment, but he longed for and treasured each moment with her.

The court gossiped. Questions were asked. A scandal was afoot. His look silenced any who dared ask him. They never held hands, never kissed. She was composure personified, perfectly measured, always polite. He never knew her thoughts, but loved to watch her eyes light, to see the corners of her mouth lift that special fraction. He learned to watch for the minute changes. It was so different to anything he was used to. Silence was his companion, and her face, voice and words filled his meditation.

One day, she told him her name's meaning. It made him realise he had no name, only the badge he wore as Rieltar's possession. In her tongue, he brokenly translated 'Anchev' as 'slave'. She understood, and lightly touched his forearm. Her eyes never left his.

That night, he dreamed of her. Cat had not come to his bed for several days; he had not kissed her, but let her sleep on the other half undisturbed. She grew sulky, jealous. It vexed him. He counted the days and knew when to leave her be, but something had changed. She was not with child; the food they ate prevented that, but they were no longer close. He rarely spoke to her before; now he didn't speak a word. She snuggled against him, tried to please him, but he didn't return it. Confused, hurt and scared, she backed away. Anger grew inside her.

The next day, she lashed out; he hit her. He had not hit her since the first time, but irritation overwhelmed him. It was the way Mother hit him when she was cross; he didn't hurt her skin, but it hurt her deeply. Bursting into tears, she ran away and hid. He let her burrow herself in blankets in the corner, and walked out. When he returned at dusk, she shyly peeked out, crawled over and hugged his legs. He hugged her but didn't kiss her. Touching her face, he thought of Tamoko and how different she was. Cat kissed his lips softly, desperate to please him, but when he climbed on top of her, his thoughts were of another.


	11. Advancing the Plan

Advancing the Plan

"We are ready to begin the next phase," Davaeron's report was read by Rieltar. 'Young Anchev' knew the letter, but handed it to Rieltar. Rieltar had come to accept his silence, falsely believing it to be the obedience of a trained dog. Rieltar's voice grew more pleased with each word. Now he issued commands, "You will contact those under you."

By now, he understood more of the Plan. The iron in Naskel was to be poisoned; Davaeron operated a secret mine buried deep in Cloakwood Forest. Rieltar tortured the location out of a dwarf he befriended. Slowly, the Iron Throne was buying up all the iron in the region and beyond, using various fronts and masking who they really were. Doppelgangers had infiltrated rival merchants, though why none had been detected magically made him suspect either their rivals were inept or Rieltar had them using other means. It would take months if not years to pull off such an operation.

He did not know where the backing for all this came, but Rieltar outlined the next step. Two mercenary groups were to be hired: the Black Talons and the Chill. They would begin operations gradually and to increase the tainted iron from Nashkel spread, they would step up the raids.

It was cold, detailed and precise. It must never link back to them. There would be three main components, and overseeing them would be him. While he watched, Rieltar would deal with their operations outside the regions. Controlling the shipping lanes in nearby ports took priority, as did placing the stranglehold on foreign iron. Caravans would not make it through, so they only had to buy up those loads transported in ships.

At the same time, Davaeron's mine would continue to stockpile their ore and when the time was right, the Iron Throne would drip-feed the market, driving the price up beyond gold. All he had to do was ensure things ran smoothly, and keep the Nashkel Iron tainted.

As a minor outpost, Nashkel was nothing more than a dot on the map; only the mine kept the town alive. It belonged to Amn, and was outside Baldur's Gate sphere. This would increase tensions between the two nations, allowing the Iron Throne to profit from the threat of war, selling weapons to both sides. They did not want an actual war, as the northern city might decide to seize their iron, but playing up the threat was to their advantage. He was to say nothing, however. If asked for an opinion, he was to voice a neutral comment.

Rieltar looked at him, "To ensure these orders are carried out, I am assigning…"

He did not listen to the rest. It did not matter which of Rieltar's lackeys were assigned.

"There will a call for aid when the authorities cannot find the source of the taint," Winski warned, speaking low from across the table. Winski was not usually present, but would ensure that the 'young master' would follow Rieltar's instructions in his absence.

"Then I will answer."

Rieltar stared, then slowly began to laugh. Winski looked shocked, then he nodded to himself.

Later on, he reviewed the Plan. With Rieltar gone, the three agents were his to command. Like Davaeron, Tazok would report directly to him and organise the mercenaries. Tranzig would head the mines through a half-orc named Mulahey. Mulahey had not inkling of who his true employers were and would use his petty magics to cow nearby kobolds. Tranzig, a mage of minor talent, would direct the flow and report back from Beregost. As the closest town to Baldur's Gate, Beregost would be affected first, and was part of the caravan route between Nashkel and Baldur's Gate. There was a pass between the Cloudpeak Mountains that linked Nashkel to Athkatla, but it could be blocked – by natural means or otherwise.

As he sat meditating, he thought on the impact of this. Hundreds of lives would be affected. Once again, money was power, and the strong ruled the weak. Long term, the impact would devastate the region. He began to make mental preparations to order grain. Some ships could expect to be lost, so the cargo would be spread out, but once the lack of iron hit, there would be a panic.

Doppelgangers could also be used to spread the poison. Winski's presence had confirmed his suspicion: it was an alchemical mixture. If it degraded iron and iron ore, could it be traceable? He imagined not by mundane means, and Winski would have made it impervious to magical scrying. He needed to know how many Doppelgangers there were, and work out how many he could use without arousing suspicion.

He needed to put his own people in place or turn Rieltar's lackeys, and that meant binding others to him. Would Tamoko be willing to help him 'solve' this iron plague? Would her honour forbid it?

The truth was, he hated the Plan. He found it detestable. Hiring mercenaries and bandits was contemptible. Power he understood, even respected, but Tamoko was right: gold was a fickle thing and true strength came from within. It was the blade in his hand, not the petty, trite words and whims of spoil, pampered nobles that deserved awe. Money was nothing more than a means of allowing the weak to control the strong.

Now he understood why Tamoko thought so little of it. He would put a stop to the Plan but only after using it to solidify is own position. Without it, Rieltar was too strong to dislodge. It was not enough to kill him; he would take away his power, leave him helpless, alone and at the mercy of the street-dogs and rats. Then, when Rieltar had nothing left, he would strangle him for Mother.

Winski would suffer the same fate. He would never call another 'master' again.


	12. Hero of Baldur's Gate

Hero of Baldur's Gate

The streets were afire with the news: the Young Anchev had saved the city. Ploughs had broken, and the crop had been ruined, but he had imported grain. What's more, he had taken all the children off the street. Poverty no longer existed: against his father's wishes, some said, he had began an orphanage and urged that laws be passed to prevent children being abandoned. Most people considered this act of charity to be decent, but he had not stopped there. He had installed strict schooling, which was frankly more than the little brats deserved, several voiced, and begun the process of turning them into useful citizens.

Who would pay for all of this? Several indignant nobles wanted to know. The City?

They were shouted down by the rest. Such generosity earned him the hearts and souls of the people. Bread he sold at a _fair_ rate, unlike the rapidly rising price of everything else. It kept the people from rioting, the Grand Dukes noticed, and his patronage of the Flaming Fist won him the loyalty of the guard. There was a growing murmur of naming him the Fifth Grand Duke. Such a suggestion was resented by many. He was just the spoilt brat of a rich merchant.

Then he led a delegation and marched on Naskel's mine. He was received by the mayor with scepticism but gratitude, and he personally entered the depths and put an end to the evil there. He emerged with the head of the kobold responsible, and claimed that the beast had bewitched the ore.

No one believed a kobold could have acted alone, but the heads of the tribe convinced them. Then he put an end to the banditry. With Officer Vai of the Flaming Fist and his own companions, he tracked down the bandits to their camp and stormed it. At his side, a proud warrior from Kara-Tur, defied all who opposed them. Two swords, one longer than the other, danced in her hands, the bards sang, and she fought with deadly grace unparalleled. Instead of claiming the spoils for himself, he turned over all the bandits had pillaged to the impoverished towns of Beregost and Naskel, sending each an equal share.

The townsfolk were amazed and in awe. The murmurs could not be stopped now. Citizens in the street outright demanded that he be named Grand Duke. The reigning four considered behind closed doors. Famously, young Anchev stated he acted for the good of the city and its people. Not a single coin from the expedition touched his hand; he refused all suggestion of reward. Then, he declared a merger of all the merchant cartels in the city. The crisis had struck all of them badly, and he would personally oversee the compilation into a single enterprise that would not vie with one another, but ensure set prices for the city and its people. Trade would be honest, he declared.

If anyone disbelieved him, they were wiser than to voice it. The thought of such power coming to one young man unnerved many, but the people hated the merchant cartels and hadn't he saved their city? Even the Flaming Fist commanders agreed he had acted not only with honour, but modesty. His integrity was impeccable. Some thought it was too perfect, but the people wanted a hero. He rode through the streets and they cheered him like a prince. He was _their_ hero.

No sign of the Chill or the Black Talons were ever found.

Rieltar returned to find that his 'son' had written up laws limiting the operations of merchant cartels in the city. Winski was nowhere in sight. His fury knew no bounds, but there was little he could do. Instead, he tried to manipulate his way into legislation that allowed for legal monopolies. In protest, the people saw his own son exile all corrupt merchants from the city, including the leaders of former rivals.

It was noted by some how adeptly the young Duke seized control, and the ruthless efficiently employed to wipe out corruption. Overnight, almost all bribery disappeared, and organised crime vanished underground. Under the new laws, strict punishments were enforced, most especially on those failing in their duty to guard the city. Morale soared as equipment was replaced, training and recruitment increased and a fresh wave of hope covered the people. Even the naysayers were begrudgingly impressed.

To the south, the city of Saradush was said to be besieged. Bhaalspawn rose up throughout the southern lands, gathering their armies and laying waste. The young Grand Duke called for his peers to petition Athkatla's Council and a joint relief force be sent to aid Tethyr and Saradush. He claimed cooperation would only strengthen the two nations' bonds, and if Tethyr fell, where would the Bhaalspawn turn next?

Who would lead such an expedition? The people already knew. They wanted their hero to. Their hero turned them down, claiming such a force must be led by those best suited to it: the Order of the Radiant Hart should take the lead.

Still the people insisted that their hero travel with the force, and the Flaming Fist backed them. The other Grand Dukes named him their representative and he went with the city's pride. Allying with Tethyr's royal army, and hiring the mercenary companies The Chill and Black Talons to bolster their ranks, they marched on Saradush. Too late they arrived. The city had fallen to the might of Yaga-Shura, a fire giant Bhaalspawn, but his army was shattered against the host led by the young Duke. With the Radiant Hart at his side, Athkatla's arms and the Flaming Fist behind him, he headed the charge. Their foe broke against a tide of lance and steel. So far did they push they reached the Fire Giant himself.

The two Bhaalspawn faced each other. Having slain the half-orc Gromnir, the warlord who took possession of Saradush, the bards claimed Yaga-Shura was invulnerable. The young Duke's sword proved otherwise. Those nearby claimed it glowed brighter than the sun, and after taking the fire giant's hand in a single cleave, his steed reared and when it landed, Anchev's son had his foe's head at his feet

The sword drank magic, the bards sang, adding Tamoko rode beside him, fiercer than a tigress. With the fall of their general, Yaga-Shura's arms routed. Tazok half-ogre lay in wait, and cutting their retreat, the Chill and Black Talons butchered the fleeing on one side, while Tethyr's might took their revenge. Appalled by the destruction of the city, not even the Radiant Hart could stop the slaughter and many of their members joined in with meting out 'justice'. The young Duke did not but neither did he order the host to stand down. The bards say not a single man of Yaga-Shura's army survived that day, and Saradush was avenged.

Back in Baldur's Gate, Rieltar left the city, where a freak storm sang his ship. To the horror of many, it was discovered to be a slaver, its holds emptied from a successful voyage to Athkatla. The outrage from the northern city was so strong that many demanded the young Duke return. The news of his victories reached them, and two more Bhaalspawn armies were laid to waste. The fourth abruptly scattered, and it was said that the last took his own life rather than face the host on the field.

When he did return, the young Duke was hailed as a hero. Publicly, his mourning was great, privately, the temples of Umberlee and Talos were each granted a sum vast enough to ransom a small town. It was to be used conditionally, to keep all 'honest' traders and fishermen safe from their respective deities' fury. The people cheered; properly correct in mourning his father, they loved him for hating slavery.

His political enemies wondered if this donation was a payoff of some private agreement. Publicly, both temples denounced the doubters and warned of their woe on the seas for it. Many more donations were handed in until the temples finally lifted their curse.

Along the way out of the city in search of new glory, Tazok half-ogre was slain by an elven arrow. It was never known how his route came to be discovered, or why, if at all, someone tipped the assassin off.

A few months later, the dwarf Yeslick Orothiar claimed his clan were avenged, but no one understood this announcement. His sudden promotion to major domo for the Flaming Fist's supplies left many wondering why their Duke would endorse such a thing. Rumours said Yeslick often cackled about 'got what was coming to him, the bas–'. Reports of a flood in Cloakwood were met with apathy, though word of the wyvern tormenting nearby farmsteads meeting with an abrupt end have been linked to an unannounced hunting expedition undertaken by none other than Lord Anchev. Typically, the stoic warrior refused to confirm or deny the peoples' suspicions. It did not stop the bards from singing of daring exploits and epic battles in the taverns.

Surprising everyone, the young Duke declared he was retiring from public life for a few months. Many were aghast at this, and pleaded with him to remain. Their stoic prince was needed, they claimed. His opponents rejoiced and saw this as their chance to undo his efforts and frustrate his return. The other Grand Dukes watched.

Everyone questioned if this decision was to do with Tamoko, for the people had come to love her too, and the calls for the two to marry were openly stated and loudly. Others said he should marry for the good of the city, a noble of the Grand Dukes to legalise his claim. Some believed Skie Silvershield, daughter of Grand Duke Entar, would be an appropriate match. It was well known she was besotted with the city's hero. But whatever his personal views, their hero did not answer their pleas.

He was, he said, taking a tour of the realm to see how the rebuilding effort was going and to see what could be done to hasten the region's recovery. This was met by general applause, and given his part in suppressing the Bhaalspawn rebellion, it did not come as a shock when he stopped by the famed fortress library of Candlekeep. Privately he met with the sage Gorion and whatever words that passed between them were lost to history. Or so the bards and biographers believed.


	13. Gorion's Ward hast come

Gorion's Ward hast come

"Do you remember me, old man?" The young Duke looked out of the window, overseeing the courtyard below. Amongst the fountains stood an auburn haired girl, a year or two younger than himself, and a young man with tanned skin and amber eyes. He was robed and sat peacefully reading a book, while the girl played with her hair.

"I remember you."

He turned and examined the sage.

Gorion visibly paled, "So the rumours are true. I should have left while I had the chance."

"I have not come to hurt them." Quietly, he waved the sage down, "Sit. We have much to discuss." Drawing up a chair, he flexed his legs and interlocked his fingers. Shakily, Gorion sank down. Near the door, Tamoko leaned, ever alert for eavesdroppers. The fire in the hearth crackled, and even here, they were surrounded by books. From across the table, he watched the old man, aware of the brightness of the day outside. The sun fell through the window in front of them.

He waited for a moment, then began, "I owe you a debt."

That startled his host.

"I was there that day. You saved us all."

"I could only take one." Defensively, the sage braced himself for the inevitable, "I would have taken you all, but I could not."

"Calm yourself. I am not here to take revenge." He sighed, "For many, many years I hated him." With a sharp nod of his head, he noted the black haired man with the book, "Envied him. Why did you take him and not me, I raged. When I learnt where you had gone, here to this bastion of sanctity and knowledge, where peace was upheld, I felt betrayed."

The two below seemed unaware of what passed.

"If you are not here for vengeance… why have you come?"

"To see you." He shook his head, "but for a single choice, your choice, my life would have been different. How much different, I wonder."

"How have you overcome your sire's taint?"

"I was a slave to my 'father', to my tutor. The Skull wanted to make me its slave."

"The skull?"

"The dreams," he tapped his head, then gestured with a tilt of his nose, "they have not had any?"

Slowly, Gorion shook his head, "They do not understand them, but have no reason to. Nothing hunts them here…"

"For years I was beaten, taught the meaning of 'pain'. The man who claimed me as his 'son' strangled the woman he owned as wife in front of me. My tutor taught me to kill for my life. Before he died, my 'father' knifed a girl I refused to kill and kept for years. It was his last gift before the gods robbed me of sending him to the hells."

"Child…" His eyes were filled with anguish.

The young Duke shook his head, placating him with an upheld hand, "I do not say these things to torment you. I say them so you know what he was spared." His eyes constricted, "Her, too."

"Both of them? You know about both?"

"I do know. It is a dangerous thing, you've done, putting two of the Children together."

"They are like brother and sister. No thought of harm for one another ever touches their hearts."

"Even with the darkness inside?" A dry chuckle touched his lips, the first in years; at the door Tamoko blinked. It was the only sign of surprise he'd ever see from her, "Keep them safe, old man." He rose slowly, "I have no desire to be a god."

Gorion's stare followed him from the room, then to Tamoko whose gaze rested lovingly on her man. Almost defiantly, she met the Sage, then wheeled and followed her lord.

Outside, the young woman bounded over, "Heya, I'm Imoen. You're the Duke, right? They say you killed a _dragon_! And you're Tamoko? _The_ Tamoko? The Two Blades?"

He didn't reply, but he smiled. His gaze drifted to the robed man who stared back confused. A little older than himself, he was a scholar, not a warrior, and his head wasn't shaved like the other monks. He nodded to him, and headed towards the gate.

"Father," the Bhaalspawn asked, coming to stand beside Gorion, "Who was that?"

"You're all buffleheaded! He's the Hero of Baldur's Gate! Say, why was he talking to you, Mister G?"

The Duke didn't hear Gorion's reply.


	14. Awakening

Epilogue

"Heh, you did a better job than I, brother." Sarevok pulled back from the pool. Around them, the pocket plane buzzed, while in the background Cespenar pottered around, dusting this and that.

"Yeah… that was… scary." Imoen shivered, and hugged her arms.

"How do you think _I_ feel? Me as Sarevok?"

"It is clear who would have been the stronger brother." Viconia stated.

"Maybe, but what about Irenicus, huh?" Wanting to know, Imoen peered at the pool, but its waters remained still.

"It seems that your nature wins out no matter your path." From the side, Jaheira commented.

"I didn't kill her." He addressed Sarevok, "In this life or that."

Sarevok didn't reply but his eyes filled with pain.

"Perhaps… in such a place as this… could a thing be made real?"

"You would trade places with me, brother?" Surprise so genuine it stopped the hulking warrior in his tracks bloomed.

"I would spare you this."

"Well, I wouldn't!" Grabbing and clinging to each of her brothers, Imoen added softly, "I love you both."

"And Gorion?" The quiet utterance struck her.

"You… can't change the past." Still hanging from their arms, she stared at the ground.

"Can't I? Solar–"

"You have seen something of what might have been, godchild. Have you learned more about your path?"

"Gorion made the wrong choice. This reality should never have happened. Can things be set right? Can the reflection be made real? Can I spare my brother this pain and overcome the taint where he failed? Will you send me back?"

"That choice, godchild, is not yours to make."

"Then why show me at all?"

"In answer to your question."

He recalled Sarevok's words. _"What if our places had been reversed, brother? Would you become as I? Heh."_

"No, brother," he answered softly, "I would not have made your choices."

"You have learned your lesson well, godchild. Three more trials await."

"Thank you, Solar."


End file.
